


Erotomania

by hinky_kneazle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinky_kneazle/pseuds/hinky_kneazle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Love that is not madness is not love."—Pedro Calderon de la Barca, 1600-1681    </p>
<p>Draco needs Hermione to know just how much he loves her.  Hermione needs to put the past behind her.  Dr. Malcolm Johnson needs to get to the root of past events.</p>
<p>This story was originally written in 2011 for a Dramione challenge on Live Journal. I'm just pulling my fiction in one place, hopefully to inspire me to write again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erotomania

**Author's Note:**

> There is a short scene where Hermione describes an attempted(?) sexual assault. It's not not explicit but it may be triggering.

_"Love that is not madness is not love."—Pedro Calderon de la Barca, 1600-1681_

_**THE DAILY PROPHET  
** _ _**22 March 2018** _

_MINISTRY TO GRANT FREEDOM TO DEATH EATERS_

_The Ministry of Magic plans to review the cases of all incarcerated Death Eaters in hope of eventually releasing those deemed not a threat to society, according to an official MoM memo published by Wizileaks yesterday. While the Ministry has not made an official statement nor made this new policy proposal public, high-ranking sources close to Minister Bones acknowledge that he is close to signing the legislation into effect. The memo outlines a dramatic, and dare we say dangerous, course of action that involves reviewing each case with a Healer who works in the Muggle field of "criminal psychology." The ultimate goal of this program would be rehabilitation of those prisoners who can be treated, with an eventual reintroduction into free society. Sources claim that Doctor Malcolm Johnson, 55, a half-blood wizard and clinical psychologist at the Muggle Ashworth Hospital in Merseyside, has been tapped as the head of the project. Unfortunately, Doctor Johnson was unavailable for comment._

_Of those Death Eaters convicted during and after the Second Rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, only eighteen survive, including the son of the infamous, deceased Lucius Malfoy and only heir to the Malfoy estate, Draco Malfoy. All other sentenced Death Eaters have either passed on within the last twenty years or have been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss._

_When approached with this story, Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding world and now Head Auror, refused to comment. After a few unpublishable words, Auror Ronald Weasley also had no comment. However, Muggle-born Hermione Granger-Weasley of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who was attacked by the younger Malfoy twenty years ago, offered a short statement. She explained that the severity of a punishment must be balanced with the mercy of compassion for true justice to prevail—for both the accused and the victim._

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Page 3: Criminal Psychology: Magic, Muggle, or Half-breed science  
Page 6: Point/Counterpoint: Rehab and Retribution  
Page 7: Top Ten Death Eaters and their Crimes

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

Nursing a headache, Malcolm Johnson wrote furiously at his utilitarian metal desk in his nondescript office in downtown Manchester. With his heavy caseload, each patient serving life sentences in a high security mental ward, Malcolm needed every spare moment to catch up on his patient files. It seemed that the Home Office was continually conducting record audits. Each year the questions and the demands became more intrusive and time-intensive.

A tapping at the window alerted him to the passage of time. "Bloody hell! Lunch already?" he cursed upon looking up at the clock before turning to the window. Malcolm had been out of the Wizarding world for a long time, so he was surprised by the sight of a bedraggled owl carrying a letter. He had not received Owl Post, especially not at work, in years. He hurried over to let the poor bird in, when a blast of cold air pushed the brown owl into the room, causing it to tumble onto the desk. Before dealing with the owl and its letter, Malcolm struggled to the close the window.

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_  
_Ministry of Magic  
_ _London, UK_

_22 March 2018_

_To: Dr. Malcolm Johnson, Clinical Psychologist, Ashworth Hospital, Liverpool, Merseyside_

_From: Ms. Hermione Granger-Weasley, Director of Special Projects, DMLE_

_Re: Death Eater Rehabilitation Program_

_Dr. Johnson:_

_Upon your acceptance of the Minister's appointment as lead psychologist for the Death Eater Rehabilitation Program, I have been assigned as your liaison with the Ministry. My staff will provide you with any administrative support you may need for this project._

_Would it be possible to meet next Tuesday at 10.00am to discuss the particulars and obtain your magical signature for any Ministry wards you will need to access? I can show you the archives and have my staff pull any files you need before you begin the following Monday. We will also need to visit Azkaban where you will be interviewing the detainees to ensure that the arrangements there meet your needs._

_I understand that you have been absent from the Wizarding world for quite some time. For your convenience, the visitor entrance to the Ministry is the red phone box at the corner of Maiden Lane and Southampton Street. I hope that you can join me for lunch at The Leaky Cauldron after we finish business. The Ministry owl will wait for your response. I look forward to meeting you._

_Best,  
_ _Hermione Granger-Weasley_

Malcolm scribbled a quick note affirming the appointment time and luncheon invitation. He tied the note to the owl's leg and carried the small bird to the window. Bracing himself against the still frigid spring wind, he apologized to the owl and sent it on its way.

Back at his desk, he opened the slim file on the Ministry project and scanned the names and photos of each convicted Death Eater. While his father was a British wizard, his mother was an American Muggle. Malcolm had been raised in various places around the globe as his parents traveled extensively for his father's research. Malcolm had been home educated and then read psychology in the States. He had not moved to England until a few years after the Second War against Voldemort.

Malcolm recognized none of the names contained in the files, but the faces looked familiar. Over the years, he had seen the same expressions on many of the men and women—sane or not, guilty or not—that he had interviewed and treated. Defiant, hopeless, haunted, or psychotically blank—yes, these he knew.

He had heard of the harsh conditions of Azkaban and knew the outdated ideas toward mental illness in the Wizarding world. Malcolm wondered if the Ministry honestly believed that any of these people could be rehabilitated or if it were all an elaborate stage play to be rid of a long-standing nuisance. Perhaps meeting with Ms. Granger-Weasley would answer that question.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

Malcolm sighed as he closed the tenth Death Eater file he had reviewed. "Ten down, eight more to go," he muttered to himself, as he stood and stretched to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Walking around the room to stretch his legs, he pondered the cases he had already read. All of them so far were "true believers," willing to sacrifice themselves either to the cause or to their charismatic leader. By all accounts, Voldemort possessed a blinding charisma that belied his reptilian countenance.

Malcolm had expected the range of motivations and rationalizations the convicted Death Eaters had spoken of in trial testimony and interviews early in their incarceration. Rage at the Establishment, superiority, xenophobia morphed into hatred, shoring up social status while economic and political influence in the general community was dropping—all as expected. You could not make up a clearer textbook case study of the dangers of social bigotry and unlimited power. Malcolm once again wondered exactly how much of their rehabilitation program the Ministry actually believed could be implemented successfully.

Shaking his head at his increasing cynicism, Malcolm sat down at his desk and opened the next thick file.

**Name:** Draco Malfoy.  
**DOB:** 5 June 1980.  
**Convicted:** 31 July 2000.  
**Charges:** Physical assault, use of Unforgiveable, breaking conditions of commutation of earlier sentence.

Malcolm's brow furrowed as he read the first page. This was certainly the youngest convict in his files yet. Mr. Malfoy would have been 20 when convicted, which would have placed him as a teenager during the War itself.

Malcolm flipped to the back of the file to read the earliest documents—testimony, evidence, and interviews of the first trial. He noted that these read vastly different from those of the older Death Eaters. This was not a true believer, but a young man barely out of childhood getting caught up in a situation beyond his control. That would explain the lessening of the original sentence. But what put him back in Azkaban only two years later?

A few pages further he reached a name that stood out from familiarity—Hermione Granger, his liaison at the Ministry. Malcolm settled in to read the transcript of the law enforcement inquiry interview more thoroughly.

_Auror Williamson: This is Auror Jonas Williamson interviewing Hermione Granger on 13 July 2000, at 15.15pm. Auror Mathilda Danks is present. Now, Miss Granger, if you are ready to begin._

_Hermione Granger: Yes. Of course._

_Williamson: Miss Granger, earlier this morning you were in Diagon Alley when Auror Roger Davies was called to investigate the use of an Unforgiveable cast by a monitored wand belonging to Mr. Draco Malfoy. Could you tell us, in your own words, the events that transpired before Auror Davies arrived?_

_Granger: Yes. [30 seconds of silence] Could I trouble you for something to drink, please?_

_Williamson: Tea?_

_Granger: Thank you._

_[sounds of Auror Danks leaving the room]_

_Williamson: Miss Granger, if you could continue._

_Granger: Yes. I was in Diagon Alley. I was heading to Gringott's to review some paperwork before going into work at the Ministry. You see, Ron and I are buying a flat just outside of London. We're getting married at the end of the year and with the interest rates so low right now . . . Well, [sigh] I was passing Knockturn Alley when Malfoy—_

_Williamson: Draco Malfoy?_

_Granger: Yes. Draco Malfoy jumped out from nowhere, grabbed my wand arm, and pulled me into the shadows. [pause] He shoved me against the wall. I think I hit my head. He covered my mouth with his hand and ordered me to be quiet. He pressed me against the wall with his whole body. I tried and tried, but I couldn't move. He was looking around and kept whispering in my ear, "Quiet. They'll find you. Quiet. I'll keep you safe. Shhh." Over and over._

_Williamson: And then what happened, Miss Granger._

_Granger: [pause] He kissed me. His mouth was on my neck and he was licking me and rubbing his hands up and down my arms. He was still pressing me against the wall with his weight. I tried to move my head but my hair was caught on the rough brick and was pulling. [10 seconds of silence] He let go of my wrists and begin touching my breasts and . . . thrusting his pelvis. I— I thought . . . I was scared that he was going to . . . I thought that he was going to rape me. [pause] When he let go of my wrist, I grabbed my wand and sent a stinging hex at his side. He backed up and cast the Imperius curse on me. [sounds of crying]_

_Williamson: Miss Granger, I am sorry to—_

_Granger: No. It's okay. I know this is necessary. I— I'm just . . . He cast the Imperius curse and told me to take him somewhere quiet and unseen. I took his hand and led him deeper into Knockturn Alley. He told me that he needed me to let him touch me. I tried not to, [pause and sounds of crying] but I couldn't say anything but yes. He had his hands up my skirt, grasping for my knickers, when the Auror arrived and Stunned him._

_Williamson: Tissue, Miss Granger? I'm sorry to have to ask you such an intrusive question, but did Mr. Malfoy physically penetrate you during the assault?_

_Granger: No! Thanks Merlin, no. He was gripping my thighs and . . . pulling my knickers down when the Auror stunned him._

_Williamson: I see. We will need to take photographs of any bruising you sustained during the attack before you have them healed. We will also need a copy of your memory of the incident for Pensieve evidence. We will have a female Auror collect all those in attendance with a Healer after this interview._

_Granger: I understand._

_Williamson: Miss Granger, had you had any previous contact with Draco Malfoy?_

_Granger: Not really, no. We attended to Hogwarts together but our contact was always limited to nasty remarks in the hallways . . . and I punched once him in third year. During the War, I hardly saw him except . . . [10 seconds of silence]_

_Williamson: Go on, Miss Granger._

_Granger: We were captured by some Snatchers. Harry, Ron, and I— were captured. We were taken to Malfoy Manor. I was separated from the boys. I don't know where they were taken. The dungeons, I suppose. We've never really talked about it. I was taken to Bellatrix . . . Bellatrix Lestrange. She interrogated me and tortured me with a knife and the Cruiciatus curse. Draco was there and he watched. [sounds of crying] I was on the floor screaming, and I saw him. [30 seconds of silence] He— he just stood there and watched. He never moved until he looked away. [pause] Then Harry and Ron rescued me and we escaped. I saw him again from a distance at the Battle of Hogwarts, but not again after that until this morning._

_Williamson: Have there been any odd or unusual occurrences in the last few weeks?_

_Granger: Hmmm . . . Oh . . . there have been some anonymous letters delivered to my home. Love letters to be exact. I— I thought they were from Ron until a few days ago. You don't think that he sent them, do you? They were very . . . intimate . . . the last few were very graphic. I assumed they were from Ron._

_Williamson: How long have you been receiving these letters?_

_Granger: About two months now. I thought they were from Ron. They started when we got engaged, and he has never been very good at expressing himself verbally. I believed that this was his way of saying the things he couldn't say face to face._

_Williamson: Can you tell me more about the content of these letters?_

_Granger: Well, they started off saying I love you and what about me he loves. They were nice, gentle. All the things a woman wants to hear from her fiancé. I think about you all the time . . . that kind of thing. [pause] I didn't say anything to Ron because I assumed they were from him and I didn't want to embarrass him because I thought he might stop writing them. I was nice, special even. As if it were a special game between us._

_Williamson: But that changed?_

_Granger: After a few letters, they became more sexual. More graphic. They said he thought about me sexually. Explained what he wanted to do with me, to me. That he . . . masturbated while thinking of me and what we would do once he had me alone. Some of it was stuff Ron and I had never done or even discussed. [pause] I thought it was just a bit of naughty fun. I thought maybe this was Ron's way of saying he wanted to try something new, so I let the letters inspire me . . . He seemed to like it. I know I did—_

_Williamson: When you first mentioned the letters you seemed a bit disturbed by them, particularly the later ones?_

_Granger: Yes. The last two I received just over the last few days. The writer started detailing my movements through the day. Who I talked with on the street and at the office. The tone became jealous, telling me that I was flirting shamelessly with every man I talked to when I should know that I belonged to him. [sigh] I figured that this couldn't be Ron. He's away on Auror training in Wales. He wouldn't have been in Diagon Alley to see me walk to work. And he's not that jealous. The last one even called me an unfaithful slag. It said that I was a traitor because he had saved me from certain death at the hands of a madwoman and now I was letting other men touch me. That I was purposefully ignoring him, that I was killing him with my indifference. [10 seconds of silence] He told me that he would remain true and would continue to watch over me and protect me, that I would come to understand how we were supposed to be together. I received that letter this morning. I have it with me. I was going to give it to the Aurors when I got to work after my appointment at Gringott's._

_Williamson: We will need to analyze that letter and all the others to determine if the author is, in fact, Mr. Malfoy. After we take the photographs and heal your injuries, Auror Danks will escort you home to retrieve them. Then I think it would be wise to stay with family or friends for a few days._

_Granger: I— I can stay with Ginny . . . No, she's in training right now, damn. I suppose I can stay with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Yes, that's probably best._

_Williamson: Miss Granger, we may need to contact you if we need further information for the investigation. We will make every attempt to keep your involvement as quiet as possible until the trial, if it goes to trial at all . . ._

_Granger: Thank you, Jonas . . . I mean, Auror Williamson._

_Williamson: This interview with Miss Hermione Granger is concluded at 16.30pm, 13 July 2000._

Slouching back in his chair Malcolm rubbed his eyes and thought it was a wonder that Ms. Granger-Weasley had been assigned to this project with such a personal connection to one of the convicted. But then again, he had read somewhere about her reforms in other areas of the Ministry and thought it was likely that she had championed the project from its inception. She certainly was relentless and efficient—and somewhat aloof—if Malcolm's previous meeting with her were any indication. He believed that she would strive for objectivity in all cases, whether they personally affected her or not.

He turned to the next few handwritten pages, which were written on a finer quality parchment than the usual Ministry documents. Dated in the months just before Malfoy's conviction, these must be the letters referenced in the inquiry interview.

_My dearest Hermione,_

_When I woke up this morning, I realized that I have never outright told you my feelings for you. How much I love you. How everyday is livable because of your love for me. How could I not have seen you for the beautiful, strong witch you are from the very beginning? I was blind—all the hurtful things I may have said and did over the years—but your love has set me free. It may be clichéd but you make me a better man._

_Always, Yours_

It was easy enough to see why Hermione assumed the letters were from her fiancé. The language was familiar, but ambiguous enough that it could conceal a host of sins. Malcolm flipped to the last letter, the one Hermione received the day of Draco's attack.

_My dearest,_

_You damn me with your faithlessness. Are you nothing but a filthy Mudblood slag offering her wares to any and all she passes in the street? How can you rip me apart as you do? I saw you talking to that fucking malicious little cocksucker Potter yesterday. And believe me; he sucks any willing cock available at the Ministry. He placed his arms around you and you allowed it. NOBODY touches what is MINE. And you are mine, Hermione. Do not forget what I have done for you. I saved your sorry twat when that madwoman was torturing you at the Manor. I stopped her from handing you over to the Dark Lord. Me! I saved you while your friends stood around and did NOTHING! You owe me, you ungrateful bitch! And how do you repay me? By ignoring my love? By rutting in the street with your filthy half-blood and blood traitor "friends" in front of me? I will show you. I will prove myself to you, yet AGAIN! You are in grave danger. Not all the Death Eaters were captured and some still look to do you harm. I am protecting you. I am watching over you. When they strike, I will be there. And you will not be able to deny my love, my faithfulness, my bravery. You will not be able to deny your love for me any longer._

_Until then and always, Yours_

Malcolm read through the rest of the file, which consisted of transcribed interviews with Draco Malfoy, recorded before the trial, and testimony taken during it. Upon conviction, there were no follow-up interviews or even documents attesting to Draco's state of mind after his incarceration in Azkaban. So, nothing in the last eighteen years. No psychological profiling or treatment. No correspondence from or to the convicted. No connection to the outside world. Draco may have entered Azkaban for different reasons than his fellow Death Eaters, but he suffered the same fate of being thrown in hell and deserted. He had been abandoned by everyone, everyone except the one whose attention he desperately wanted—Hermione Granger, who worked so hard to push this rehabilitation project through the Ministry. What did that mean?

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

Malcolm hated the nauseating pull of Apparition, almost as much as he was repulsed by the conditions of Azkaban. And yet, here he was again for his interview with Draco Malfoy. He could only conduct one interview every few days; the despair caused by the presence of the dementors coupled with the mental stress of staying detached and composed during the intense confessionals with his not-quite-clients, made short work of his nerves.

He passed through the security wards under the watchful eyes of the human gaolers who thoroughly searched him for contraband—mundane and magical—anything that could be used to harm or pleasure oneself or others. Nothing that could be left behind, except for Malcolm's small, handheld voice recorder, was permitted. Handing his wand over to the guards, Malcolm breathed to center himself for the interview. If nothing else, he would do this right.

In the center of the spare white room sat Draco Malfoy. The harsh lighting did him no justice. He had been freshened up and dressed in clean, if old, prison robes, but his hair and beard were long and untrimmed. His eyes were glazed over and were staring unfocused straight ahead. He made no movement or acknowledgement of Malcolm's entrance.

"Draco Malfoy," Malcolm began as he took the chair at the lone table. "Do you know why I am here?" He kept his face open, his muscles relaxed, and his posture easy.

Draco sat unmoving, staring into nothingness, seemingly closed off in his own internal world far away from Azkaban.

"I am Dr. Malcolm Johnson. A clinical psychologist, or mind Healer, if you will. I am here to talk to you, get to know you a bit. The Ministry has a new program to rehabilitate former Death Eaters, like yourself, with an eye to eventual release from here. But they need to be certain that people—both Wizards and Muggles—will be safe. That's where I come in—"

"No such thing as," croaked Draco. His voice was ragged, barely over a whisper, as if he had not spoken since he entered prison.

"Really?" Malcolm asked. "No such thing as what . . . a former Death Eater? Hmmm, why is that?"

When it became apparent that Draco would not respond, Malcolm continued. "Is it because nobody will let you be anything else? Not the Ministry surely. Nor the general public, people you meet on the street. Not friends or family. Definitely not the Dark Lord. Probably not even the woman you love." Malcolm noticed Draco's expression tense upon hearing the last option.

"You are first, last, and always the evil Death Eater, no matter how you actually feel about that. Tell me, how do you feel about that, Draco?" asked Malcolm. "Did you want to take the Dark Mark and stand at the side of the Dark Lord as he fulfilled his destiny?"

Draco's mouth tightened against any response as he looked down at his hands.

Malcolm continued to press, hoping to trigger a response. "But then when has what you really wanted meant anything? Being a Malfoy, you probably had very little choice. It was you or your family. That was how the Dark Lord operated, was it not?"

Draco's eyes met Malcolm's for the first time.

"But try telling that to anyone and see if they believe you. And in the end, it ends up being the same thing—you lose everything you sought to protect."

Draco's gaze lowered to his hands, now gripping each other, on the table. "But still, the question must be asked: do you feel regret, remorse? Do you feel anything after eighteen years in this hellhole?"

Draco's raw "yes" echoed through the room.

Malcolm's eyes widened slightly. "Yes? Tell me about it, Draco. What do you regret? Why? I have to know your side of the story . . . to be able to help you."

Draco's eyes shifted upward then down as if he were staring down at the floor through the corner of his eye. Malcolm took in Draco's every minute movement: every tensing measure of the mouth and hands, every twitch of the eyes.

Draco inhaled deeply and exhaled audibly. "I regret . . . Hermione . . . they took Hermione from me. Because of who I am, a Death Eater. We love each other, but they keep us separated. Potter hates that we would be together if I were not trapped in here."

Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but Draco was working himself up, as if he had not spoken in years but now had permission to tell the secrets of his heart. There was no stopping his words.

"If I could just get out of here, we could be together. I could keep her safe. She's not safe without me. She needs me. She tells me that . . . that she loves me, that she needs me, that she wants me." Draco's expression implored Malcolm to understand and release him.

Malcolm leaned in and asked, "Tell me about your relationship with Hermione, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes and spoke, "I didn't know I loved her until that day at the Manor. She was so brave. Potter and Weasley had taken her out on their dangerous mission, not keeping her safe, out who knows where. They were daft enough to get Hermione caught by Greyback and some lowlife snatchers, instead of protecting her. Mother wanted me to identify Potter before summoning the Dark Lord. Of course it was Potter. Who else would it be? If you have Hermione and some redhead, of course it's Potter. I was about to say so, when I looked into Hermione's eyes . . . I just couldn't say it. She was standing there in Greyback's arms . . . his filthy paws all over her . . . but she wasn't crying . . . so brave . . . looking to me to help them. I could hear her voice in my head soothing me and telling me that I could be brave too, and not say anything.

"So, I just said that it might be him, but with his swollen face, it might not. I knew that Father would not want to summon the Dark Lord without being absolutely sure. Then Aunt Bellatrix saw the sword and went ballistic. She started screeching and Stunned the snatchers. She pulled Hermione out of Greyback's grip. I saw the blood where his claws had scraped her arms. Aunt Bella pulled Hermione by the hair and threw her to the ground. All the time shrieking at her to tell her about the sword. She cast the Cruciatus. Hermione screamed and screamed. She was crying now and saying the sword was fake . . . fake.

"I heard her voice again in my head again begging me to save her . . . telling him that I was strong enough to take Bella . . . telling me that I could disarm them all and help her escape. I saw Potter and Weasley on the stairs from the dungeon. I have no idea how they escaped, but they just stood there with their mouths agape like idiots. I knew _I_ could save her. I disarmed Father and jumped Bella. It's really a blur . . . everything happened so fast . . . somehow Hermione was now in Weasley's arms and they all Apparated away. Because of me.

"Of course, the Dark Lord was displeased that they had escaped. He Crucio'd Bellatrix and Father for quite some time. I never understood why not me, since it really was _my_ fault they escaped. But I didn't care . . . at least, _she_ was safe."

Malcolm sat back and looked thoughtfully at Draco, whose account veered wildly from all documented accounts of what happened that day. "So . . . you say you saved Hermione, kept her safe from the Dark Lord, and fell in love with her?"

"Yes."

"And when did she fall in love with you?" Malcolm asked with a small smile.

Draco cocked his head as if listening to a quiet voice whispering in his ear. "It was during the War trials that I noticed that she was there _every day_. My trial was early on and I was released. But I went back every day to see _her_. She would begin by staring at me until she got my attention. Then she would look away. I tried not to stare back, but she would look at me whenever Potter wasn't paying attention to her. But she never spoke to me. He wouldn't let her. She began speaking to me after the trials though . . . when I was alone. She told me to bide my time, let people forget about me being a Death Eater, wait for things to settle down, and then she would come to me. I had to watch over her quietly so no one would know."

"Tell me about the letters you sent her, Draco."

"I couldn't wait anymore. I was desperate. She had to know how I felt about her. I had to write and convince her that I needed her." Draco swallowed and looked worried. "Death Eaters were tracking her—plotting for ways to make an example of her. I knew what they would do if they caught her. They would boast about it to the Dark Lord. I warned her but she didn't listen to me. She continued going out without protection. She even put herself in danger by hanging around Potter, letting him touch her. I was furious that she would not let me keep her safe."

"So why did you attack her, Draco?"

"I didn't attack her! I would NEVER attack her! That's what Potter told everyone. Potter wants her for himself. Weasley is just a smoke screen. He's too weak to ever be of interest to Hermione, or to fight for her. No, _**I**_ saved her. She was going to leave with _me_ —we were going to leave England so we could be together, _without_ Potter. She didn't love him, but he wanted her. That's why the Death Eaters chose to strike—because I was going to take her away. That day, she was in Diagon Alley and they were going to attack, so I dragged her into the shadows to hide her. I was able to get off a couple of hexes before they ran away. Things got carried away in the alley. Hermione started kissing and touching me . . . such a hot little minx she is, but then _Potter_ sent the Aurors. They caught us and separated us."

"But didn't Hermione testify against you in the trial? She said you Imperius'd her and _made_ her touch you."

Draco clenched his hands and growled. "Bitch!" His fists hit the table with a sharp crack. "She _loves_ me. SHE LOVES _ME_! But she is influenced by Potter. He holds her under _his_ sway. He pretends to be good, but he is filthy and would drag her down to his disgusting level. Without me to protect her, of course, he takes advantage of her good nature. She has needs—like all women, but she is faithless—like every other bitch in heat." Draco shook his head and mumbled what sounded like an apology under his breath.

"It was Potter who put her under the Imperius. You could tell at the trial when she testified. It was so obvious! He made her say those things about me. You could see it in her eyes—her fear. She never looked at me—she couldn't. He would not let her."

Malcolm shook his head in silence as Draco again turned his head to the side and murmured quietly. When he looked up again, Malcolm asked, "You said before that Hermione tells you that she loves you. Has she been to visit you? How has she communicated this to you?"

Draco smiled crookedly and bit the corner of his lip. "I see her in my dreams—that is the _only_ way she can visit me. But she still talks to me all the time. I'm not sure how she does it, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane. She's so clever, my Hermione."

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

 

Sitting in an overstuffed chair next to the fireplace in his office, Malcolm balanced Draco's open file on his knee. With hesitant movements, he took up his quill and stared at the final form awaiting his notes and recommendation for Draco's future. Without years of intense psychiatric treatment, Draco was beyond rehabilitation. He needed to be moved to one of the best Muggle institutions, someplace like Ashworth. It was the only way, his only chance. Still, that was simply beyond the means or desires of the Ministry. Malcolm had been told as much by Ms. Granger-Weasley's superiors.

The only available option left was the slow, continued torture of incarceration in Azkaban with only the dementors for company. With a wizard's long lifespan, that would be at least another fifty years as Draco and the other prisoners were kept fed and inculcated against physical illnesses. Regrettably, that left suicide as Draco's only way out of the misery of his imprisonment and isolation.

Malcolm rubbed his brow and sighed. There was no denying that Draco was guilty of his crimes—but he had committed them in the middle of a psychotic episode, which had been left undetected and untreated. Could losing his consciousness through the Dementor's Kiss—usually considered a punishment worse than death—give his soul an escape and be considered a compassionate mercy?

But the question remained: what did Draco Malfoy deserve? Abuse, oblivion, or death? Who was he to decide another's fate? Malcolm reasoned that his opinion was only a recommendation, not a sentence, Malcolm reasoned. The Ministry would still have to make the final decision. At least, that much was out of his hands. Taking a deep breath, he wrote one word in the space provided: Kiss.

Quickly closing the folder, Malcolm stuck it half-way in the stack of files to be returned to the Ministry for action. He turned to the unconscious, middle-aged man slumped over the desk and apologized. Taking the stairs two at a time, he walked quickly down the block and into a deserted alley as the Polyjuice potion wore off. Walking to the other end of the alley, Hermione transfigured her clothes to fit again, paused to look up at the bright, clear sky, and turned the corner into the sunshine.

 

_f_ _in_


End file.
